She shivered as she pushed to her feet and rinsed her mouth. Tearing off a strip of paper towels from the dispenser, she folded and wet them, pressing the pad to the back of her neck while she fished in the bag she kept in the vanity for a toothbrush and toothpaste.
By the time Mrs. Sawyer showed up, whatever made her ill had passed, and she was able to greet her with a semblance of professional decorum.
She’d never order soup from that restaurant again.
CHAPTER 16
‡
Connor waited for the aircraft to empty before levering himself out his seat. The flight attendant brought him his crutches with a smile. Blond, slender, with sculpted cheekbones and pale green eyes, she was a stunner.
“I know I shouldn’t say this, but I have about four hours before I fly out.”
He studied her almost perfect features and realized her very white and attractive smile didn’t do a thing for him. He was looking for gold-toned brown eyes and a lush mouth he couldn’t seem to get enough of, or stop dreaming about. “If I weren’t already taken, I’d be thrilled to take you out to dinner. But I owe my lady a jazz concert, a diving lesson, and about six weeks of phone calls and dinner dates.”
The disappointment in her expression flared into a rueful smile. “She’s a lucky lady.”
“I’m a lucky guy.” Or at least he hoped he’d get lucky…if Sloane forgave him for not calling in the past three weeks. One call in seven weeks did not a romance make.
He slid his backpack on and reached for his crutches. He’d been on them for about a week, and had to wait until he’d gotten his stitches out before traveling. But he wasn’t supposed to walk miles through airports on his leg yet.
“If you ask any of the airport employees who work the desks, they can call for a cart to pick you up and take you to get your luggage.”
“Thanks.” He looked at her nametag. “Heather.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good time in Charleston.”
“I hope to.”
After doing as she suggested, he took a taxi to the hotel, though it cost a small fortune. He dumped his bags in the room, then pulled his cell phone free of his backpack, called Hadley, Childers, and Johnson, and asked for Bernie.
Her voice came across the line, her New York accent triggering a smile. “Bernie, this is Connor Evans.”
“Oh my God, what are you doing calling me?”
“I wanted to come to the office, but don’t want to interrupt Sloane while she’s working.”
“You’re here in Charleston?”
“Yes. I just flew in about half an hour ago.”
“Her last appointment for the day is already here, and she’ll be through in a few minutes. Sloane doesn’t usually leave until five thirty or six. Is this supposed to be a surprise?”
“Yes. She doesn’t have plans for dinner, does she?”
“No.”
“What’s her favorite food besides Italian?”
“Actually there isn’t any kind of food she doesn’t like. She loves fish. There’s Hank’s fish house. And she loves Magnolias. They serve a little of everything, and it’s all excellent. My husband took me there for our anniversary. It’s that kind of place.”
“I’ll call and try to get reservations there. Thanks, Bernie. How is she?”
“A little stressed, but dealing with it. She’s lost a little weight. I think she’s pining for you.”
“She doesn’t need to lose any weight. Her curves are just right.”
“Awww. I’ll tell her you said that after the surprise. Now get your ass over here.”
He laughed. “I’m on my way.”
He called downstairs to order a taxi, then dealt with making the Magnolias reservation.
He couldn’t get across town fast enough, but a thought occurred to him, and he tapped the window between them. “I need to make a stop. I want to get something for my lady. Any suggestions?”
After a quick discussion and an equally quick stop, he set his pack gingerly between his feet so the he wouldn’t crush the flowers. With both hands committed to the crutches, it was the only way he could carry things.
Her office building was lodged between a shop on one side and another office on the other. The façade gleamed white, while black shutters framed each side of the large windows, and the front door was painted a dark crimson. When he entered the lobby a receptionist looked up.
“You must be Chief Evans. Bernie described you perfectly. She told me to direct you to the second floor, first office on the right. There’s an elevator just down the hall on the left. Do you need any help?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Once he was riding the elevator, his heart raced, and he admitted to being a little nervous. If she was pissed at him, he could talk her down. If she’d lost patience and moved on in the last four weeks, he’d do his damnedest to win her back. He rested his weight on the crutches long enough to rake his fingers through his hair. He should have gotten a haircut. He was looking shaggy and it curled around his ears.
Bernie sat in a chair in the reception area. Her face fell when she saw his crutches. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what happened?”
He started to say he’d slipped in the shower, but her open concern killed that idea. “Some bad guys picked on me.”
Her lips twitched at his whiny tone. “I hope you kicked their ass.”
“You could say that.”
“Good.” Her satisfied look triggered a smile. “Come this way.”
He swung forward.
“How long are you going to be on the crutches?”
“Another two weeks—whenever I go out, at least. I can walk around at home as long as I don’t overdo it.”
“Bummer.”
He chuckled at her heartfelt, succinct sympathy as she led him into a sort of outer office that seemed to be her space. Pictures of a man, her sister, and two children were displayed on a floating shelving unit behind the walnut desk.
“She’s had an eventful day. I hope you’ll be the cherry on top to make it all right.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She shot him a grin. “God, I hope you’re the real deal, because if you aren’t, I’m going to have to kill you.” She opened the door and stepped only halfway through. “You have a visitor, Sloane.”
She stepped out of the way and he swung forward.
He took in the room only as the space that surrounded her. His first thought was she looked pale, but just as beautiful as ever. Her eyes widened, and she shot to her feet, taking in his crutches even as she was hurrying toward him. Without a word she put her arms around him and held him tight. He dropped one of the crutches so he could hold her.
*
It took all her determination not to cry. “Are you okay?” It was all she could think to ask without embarrassing herself.
“Yeah. A little banged up, but I’ll heal.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. The sweet heat rose up between them, and she leaned into him, feeling him harden for her.
“It still works,” he said.
She laughed. “The kiss, or something else?”
“Both.”
She bent to retrieve his crutch to hide the quick rush of tears. He could have been killed. But he wasn’t. And he was home.
“I wanted to call last week, Sloane, but I was still flat on my back in the hospital, and I didn’t want to worry you or Dad. I wanted to be back on my feet first.”
“How long have you been back?”
“Fifteen days.”
“Fifteen days,” she repeated. For fifteen days she’d been lying sleepless in bed, worried he might be dying. Fifteen days she’d ached to hear his voice. Pretended he was holding her so she could sleep.
She had fallen for him. Hard. But obviously he didn’t have the same feelings for her. And how could he after only five days? She’d blown everything out of proportion.
She walked back to her desk and sat down behind it. A rush of pain
jumbled her thoughts with white noise, and when she looked up he was standing in front of her desk.
“I’m glad you’re home safe, Connor. I worried about you.” She bent to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. “When we met it was just supposed to be a two-week vacation thing. I thought I was up for it. And as hard as I tried to convince myself I was, I wasn’t. And I’m not now.”
Why was she letting herself fall into the same traps repeatedly? Stumbling into the same relationship mistakes? Letting guys play her? She’d expected too much, too soon. She’d given too much, too soon. But she couldn’t go back to that carefree, live-in-the-moment, reach for what you want… She didn’t even know what to call it.
She forced herself to look up at him. “You need to go see your father and let him know you’re okay.” She rose. “And I need to go home.” Because she’d had enough for one day. She’d had seven weeks too much. And he just made it so much worse.
She rounded the desk, and he was there blocking her way. “Let me explain, Sloane.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations. Why would you? I was just a five-day distraction while you were on leave.”
“No you weren’t.”
“If I wasn’t, you’d have picked up the phone and called fifteen days ago.” There. She’d exposed her feelings, but what did it matter? She skirted around him and rushed out of the office, her hurt bleeding over into anger.
“I’m going home, Bernie.” She couldn’t look at her, either. Otherwise the careful control over her emotions would snap.
“Okay.” Bernie’s gaze moved from one to the other. “Should I reschedule your appointments for tomorrow?”
“No. I’ll be here.”
“You vindictive bitch.” Reed’s voice was hushed, but still reached her as he advanced into Bernie’s office, a box from the copy room clenched in his hands. “You just had to rock the boat. Just had to tell Johnson you wouldn’t work with me.”
“Did you really expect me to say I would?” Had her anger not been at its peak, she might have ignored him. “Surely you’re not that obtuse.”
The feral look in his eyes as be bore down on her triggered a heart-pounding rush of adrenaline, and she took a step back.
Connor swung out of her office and into Bernie’s area, then staggered sideways, planting the foot of one crutch in front of Reed’s shin. Reed went down and would have done a faceplant if the box he was carrying hadn’t taken the brunt of his fall.
“Sorry.” Connor didn’t sound sorry at all. “I lost my balance.”
Reed climbed to his feet and turned to glare at Connor. “Get away from me.”
Connor’s dark eyes went flat and cold, his body language shifting to controlled violence. He propped his crutch on the edge of Bernie’s desk with slow precision. Bernie rose from her seat at the shift in Connor’s expression, while Sloane took a step back from both men.
“I think you and I need to have a talk about how you address Sloane.”
Rising to his full height, Reed turned to confront him, his mouth already open to speak. One look at Connor’s honed features and his expression shifted to wariness, and he shut his mouth.
“You may address her as Ms. Bianchi. Sloane if she allows it. But nothing else. That includes the term bitch.” He bit out the word as though it tasted foul. “With two witnesses to your sexist behavior in the workplace, you could be going right back out the door before you get settled in. You might want to apologize.” The implication was that otherwise he’d force him.
Reed’s face was flushed, and his expression shifted between sullen and embarrassed as he looked at her. “Sorry, Sloane.” He turned and beat it back out into the hall.
Sloane swallowed in an attempt to moisten her dry mouth. Connor reached for his crutches. There was nothing cold or flat in his expression as he shifted his attention to her.
Once in the elevator, Connor leaned back against the stained cherry wood interior.
“That guy’s going to be trouble, Sloane. Did he talk to you like that when you were together?”
“No. Never.”
“He broke it off, but he’s angry at you.”
“So it would seem.”
Connor shook his head. He reached for the button that stopped the elevator. Sloane looked up in surprise. “What I need to say, I need to say in private. Eighteen days ago, I had to have emergency surgery to repair a bullet wound to my thigh. Three days later I was flown to San Diego and taken to Balboa Military Hospital. I had an infection, and I was told I might lose my leg.”
His words felt like a punch, and she tried to swallow but couldn’t.
“The docs had to open up the wound and let it drain. Luckily the artery they grafted in to replace the one damaged by the bullet was still okay. It was touch and go for about a week, and I’ll have a hell of a scar, but it’s mending.” He shook his head. “I could make the excuse that I was in no shape to call, but I won’t, because I could have. But I just didn’t think it would be fair to drop that on you, Sloane.”
“And if you’d lost your leg?” she asked, feeling sick because he’d been so badly hurt. That his leg would be forever marred by violence she only understood peripherally.
“I don’t know.”
“You’d never have called me again. You’d have gone on without letting me know what happened, or if you did call, you’d have broken things off without telling me anything about what happened.”
“I don’t know what I would have done. I just couldn’t see myself calling you and dropping all of this,” he motioned at his leg, “on you.”
Her chest ached with tears. “Do I seem like a shallow person to you, Connor?”
“No.”
“Then why would you treat me like I am?”
He ran his hand back and forth over the top of his head, roughing up his hair. “What would you have done if I’d called and told you about my leg?”
“Whatever you needed me to do.” She pushed the button, the elevator descended, and the door opened. She stalked out and turned left toward the back door.
“Sloane.”
She turned to face him, trying to keep her expression as intractable as possible. But she wanted to cry. For them both. Because he was so locked-down emotionally, so afraid of getting hurt he wouldn’t let anyone in. But he had that last night in Hilton Head. And obviously she read too much into it.
“As soon as they said I could travel, I came here. I have dinner reservations at Magnolias at seven. And I have a bouquet in my backpack that’s probably wilting as we speak. I have seven weeks of things I wanted to say to you while I was gone, and couldn’t because I didn’t have access to a phone.”
Damn him. She didn’t want to hear this.
She needed to cut her losses.
She stared at the floor for several seconds, because to look at him would rob her of her composure. “Where are you staying?” She needed her head examined.
“The Vendue.”
She was surprised.
“I thought you might like it.”
Damnit, he’s too smart for his own good. He made it hard to stay angry. But the hurt was still there. “My car is this way.”
She pushed the passenger seat all the way back for him, and took his backpack so he could get in the car. Once he was settled, she set his pack between his feet and loaded his crutches into the back seat. “You need to get off that leg and elevate it.” Even through his dark pants she could see the swelling. She closed the door.
Once she was in the driver’s seat, she said, “I appreciate the reservations at Magnolias, but I ate some soup at lunch that disagreed with me, and I’m still a little out of sorts. I probably need to stick with something light for dinner and see how I do.”
“Okay. I’ll cancel and make it for another night if you like.”
For the first time she heard a little uncertainty in his voice.
“Why is it so hard for you to turn to anyone for help, Connor? You look to your team fo
r help, don’t you?”
“Not for this. To do what we do, we have to maintain the idea that we’re indestructible. We can’t think any other way. To bring them into this would be like asking them to face what could be possible for them all. We don’t give up, Sloane. Never. I was down, bleeding, but I was still firing, covering the guys carrying me to transport.”
But he was willing to walk away from her. “Maybe you need to carry some of that attitude over into your personal life.”
When his lips tightened, she knew she’d hit a nerve.
CHAPTER 17
‡
She was certainly in the right profession. She went right for the weak spot. He wouldn’t say the jugular, because she wasn’t bloodthirsty enough for that.
By trying to protect her, he’d hurt her. Badly. She’d have flown out to San Diego. She’d have done whatever he asked of her. And now he felt like an asshole again. But he also felt hope.
She reached for the keys and started the car. They drove in silence until they reached her apartment building. It was smaller than he had envisioned, only four stories tall, but the balconies were large enough to hold a grill and a table and chairs.
Sloane lived on the third floor. Thank God for elevators.
She unlocked her apartment and stood back to allow him to enter first.
“A year and a half ago I moved from my apartment downtown to here. The rent on the other place was expensive and, being alone, I didn’t need all that space. At the time I thought I might end up being fired because of the lawsuit, so I needed to get my expenses down as much as possible. I’m saving for my house with the extra.
“There’s a pool around back and a exercise room, but I’m usually too busy to use either.”
“This looks about the same size as mine.”
He propped his crutches by the door and paused to take everything in. There were photos of her large Italian family on an entrance table. And above them hung a watercolor of a plantation house under moss-draped trees in bold shades of blue, red, and green.
The foyer opened up into a living room that looked like a photo from a magazine. Area rugs with strong textures stretched across the floor. A large, overstuffed, dark blue couch was bracketed by end tables with brushed nickel lamps that reminded him of a woman’s ripe figure. Two patterned armchairs designed like the couch created a grouping. The large, square coffee table had a top like a tray and held three large candles.
Hot SEAL, Rusty Nail (SEALs In Paradise ) Page 14